Summer Sun
by The Drowned World
Summary: In the summer before sixth year, there's a lot to be depressed about. But an unexpected visit from Oliver Wood can cheer up a dark day in strange ways...and of course, Hermione can't resist giving a helping hand. Wood/Harry Non-Graphic Slash; Fluff.


**A/N:** I don't really know where this came from; I was just re-reading the Harry Potter novels when it struck me that I haven't ever written anything for it before, so I decided to correct that. I wasn't sure I was going to write a romance but this insisted that it be written, so I bowed to it and wrote it. It gave me cuddly feelings when I was done so I think that it was okay -- it was just supposed to be a fluff piece, after all.

Note: This is set in the very beginning of Half-Blood Prince, before they've gone to Hogwarts. Harry is not attracted to Ginny in this fic (not that I have anything against the pairing, mind you). Other than this story everything else in the past five books is staying cannon.

And I'm not sure that I'm going to continue this; I think that it does its own job as a fluffy ficlet.

**Warning:** In case you didn't understand from the summary, this is a slash story -- that is, there is romance between two men. If such things offend you, then this story is not for you. But it is rated K+ for a reason: There is nothing graphic in this story. It's not a smut.

**Disclaimer:** The absolutely astounding universe of Harry Potter was created by the awesome talent of JK Rowling, and I own nothing and make no profit from this spot of fun with the two characters.

_Summer Sun_

Ron had good news for Harry when Harry arrived at the Burrow with Dumbledore the summer before their sixth year at Hogwarts: It turned out that Oliver Wood's father had taken a position with his job that located the Wood family about five miles away from Ottery St. Catchpole, where the Weasley family lived. Harry hadn't actually spoken to his ex-Quidditch captain in years, other than seeing him briefly at the disastrous World Cup, and so it was a bright spot on what was looking like an increasingly cloudy horizon. Hermione had seemed disgusted that after Harry telling them about the prophesy his first concern was Quidditch. Harry figured that she needed a Y-chromosome to understand.

Mrs. Weasley invited the Woods over for dinner the night that Harry arrived. Ginny and Hermione both started giggling uncontrollably when Mr. Wood had agreed to bring his son along. Harry couldn't figure this; but then, there was a lot about girls that he didn't understand (his ill-fated, short-lived 'relationship' with Cho Chang had proved that quite well, thanks very much) so he just shrugged it off. Mrs. Weasley insisted upon semi-formal dress. Harry and Ron thought it best to acquiesce; the Weasleys didn't have many opportunities to have dinner parties of sorts, and _no one_ wanted to inspire the wrath of Molly Weasley.

And so at six o'clock Harry, Ron and Hermione were waiting by the door while the rest of the Weasleys rushed around like an army under the watchful gaze of their mother. Mr. Weasley was keeping himself out of the way, which Harry respected as a wise strategy. He felt rather uncomfortable in the slacks of his dress robes and a white button-up shirt, and Ron kept tugging irritably at the collar of his similar outfit. Hermione looked quite nice; she had given up taming her bushy hair and instead twisted it into a braid to make it look less large, and was wearing a summer dress of blue with white trim. Ron had managed to stammer out that she looked nice while Harry and Ginny exchanged eye rolls that said the exact same thing: _When are they finally going to just drop the crap and go out?_

"Oh, don't you look smashing," Mrs. Weasley told them fondly as she hurried past. They didn't have time to respond because she glanced up a moment later and shrieked "Fred Weasley, if I _ever_ see you swing a knife like that again in _this house_ you'll never see the light of day again!" She stormed off toward the kitchen like a rampaging rhinoceros and Harry and Hermione watched after her, still after these years wondering how such a small woman could be so fiercely intimidating.

"I never could tell them apart until they spoke," Harry commented, to break the silence.

"Fred's got a birthmark freckle under his left eye and George has it under his chin," Ron enlightened him. "You need to know things like that if you want to survive growing up with _my_ brothers."

Just then, the doorbell rang. "Good Lord, they're here!" Mrs. Weasley yelped from the kitchen. They heard her and Ginny dash out with the last of whatever was being cooked to the lawn, which had been prepared and looked amazing. Mr. Weasley stepped forward and asked Mr. Wood the security question they'd decided on when planning the dinner. Satisfied, Mr. Weasley tossed the door open.

"Arthur!"

"Mack!" The two wizards slammed into a hug, and Mr. Weasley led them into the Burrow. Harry had never met either of Oliver's parents before; Mr. Mackenly Wood was a large, barrel-chested man with a warm, twinkling expression seeming to fit permanently on his face. His hair was streaked with silver, giving the impression of a kindly old man that was always on the verge of telling some joke or another. Harry liked him immediately.

That was the only impression that he managed to get before he heard a familiar deep Scottish brogue yelling "Potter!" and suddenly he was crushed against a firmly muscled chest. Oliver had a pleasant, spicy smell that was interesting to Harry's nose. His heart thudded like a bass drum under Harry's ear. It felt strangely comforting to be bundled up in thick muscular arms by someone half a head taller than him.

"Guh," Harry managed impressively, buried in Oliver's muscular chest. He heard a deep chuckle rumble up his body and it reverberated through Harry's body with a lovely vibratory feel. A little discomfited at his body's reaction, Harry pulled back and smiled at his overexcited friend. "It's really good to see you too, Oliver," he commented with a smile. He heard Oliver's father laughing behind them.

"How've you been?" Oliver asked enthusiastically. "Still Seeker? Still playing for Gryffindor? How'd you do last year?" Harry couldn't help but laugh. Oliver hadn't changed much over the years; he was still large and still a Quidditch fanatic. He was rather like a very cuddly happy puppy. _Cuddly?_ Harry shook himself.

"Let 'im breathe, Olly," Mr. Wood said jovially. Oliver let Harry go with an apologetic smile. Harry resisted the urge to rub the spots on his arm where Oliver had touched him. Oliver went to greet Ron and Hermione (Hermione rolled her eyes when she realized that the only reason he remembered her was because she had charmed Harry's glasses in an attempt to help Gryffindor win a Quidditch match). Mr. Weasley cheerfully swept the Woods toward the kitchen and the backyard, and Harry was pleasantly surprised that aside from introducing himself Mr. Wood hadn't gotten his knickers all in a twist just because he was meeting Harry Potter.

"Honestly, men are all the same," he heard Hermione mutter to Ginny as they headed toward the backyard to finish helping Mrs. Weasley. He and Ron couldn't meet each other's eyes for fear of laughing -- Hermione was developing an unnervingly uncanny impersonation of Mrs. Weasley when she was angry. Ginny, on the other hand, was frightening on her own.

**888**

Dinner that night was more of a pleasant experience than Harry had had in too long. Even as happy as he always was at the Burrow, it seemed that worry was always on the horizon. Ever since Dumbledore had informed him of the contents of the prophecy, there was always that little niggle of worry in Harry's mind, that little voice that whispered to him that the final battle was drawing nearer and nearer, no matter that he wished fervently that it wasn't.

But tonight wasn't like that. It was strange, but Oliver just sat next to him and nattered on about Puddlemere United and Quidditch and Hogwarts and Harry was hanging on his every word. The war didn't affect Oliver, and he was as blissfully normal as Harry often dreamed of being. Also, Oliver was just a perpetually happy person. He always had a smile on his face, and it took a lot to take that off of there. Harry had forgotten that enthusiasm, had forgotten that he himself had once had it, too.

Oliver was nearly addictive.

The talk at the table ranged from what they'd all been doing to Puddlemere's chances in the next round of the Quidditch World Cup, from job aspirations of the future to compliments of Mrs. Weasley's fabulous cooking. The war was not touched upon, and for this Harry could see that Mrs. Weasley was more grateful than anyone. It made him sad, for a moment. Mrs. Weasley was easily the most caring person he'd ever met. She was a natural mother, and from the moment she'd met Harry she'd taken him under her wing as surely as if she had adopted him and Hermione. He knew without a doubt that whatever he had to do in his fight against Voldemort, Mrs. Weasley would worry herself sick about it. She deserved this night where there seemed to be no worry on an increasingly dark horizon.

Harry had had no idea that his gloomy introspection had been noticed until Oliver's hand nudged his under the table. Harry jumped slightly, but more from his body's strange reaction to the other young man's touch; he felt as if he'd been shocked by an invisible fence and strange tingles were shooting along his hand, almost like a waking limb. Oliver gave him a questioning look and Harry grinned back widely.

For some reason it was important to him that he not darken Oliver's sun with his storm clouds.

**888**

"Of course you'll stay the night!" Mr. Weasley announced when Mr. Wood had started to say that he was tired from such a magnificent feast. "We'll not have you splinching yourselves on accident, and we're always happy to have you." Harry and nearly everyone else in the room flinched on reflex when Mr. Weasley said 'splinch;' sixth year students at Hogwarts were old enough to begin training for Apparition, and there was nothing more terrifying than the prospect of leaving something of yourself behind.

"Well, alright," Mr. Wood said. And he did sound quite tired, but then, Harry had watched him tuck in three helpings of just about everything. He wondered what Oliver's father did for a living that kept him in shape, the way he ate. He made a mental note to ask Oliver about it later, when he wondered where his friend had gone. He headed outside with a mind to see if he was in the backyard.

Oliver had a chair tilted back against the garden wall, and his head was tipped back. His lips were parted and a small, childish snore was emanating from him. He had a little furrow between his eyebrows as he slept, and Harry had a sudden irrational desire to smooth it out. He smiled at the picture Wood made, and crept forward. When Oliver didn't open his eyes at his approach, Harry smirked to himself and poked him quite hard in the chest.

"_Aaargh!_" Oliver yelped, startled. His eyes narrowed on Harry's laughing figure and moments later he pounced. Harry, taken by surprise that the burly Keeper could move so fast, didn't get out of the way in time and suddenly found himself underneath Oliver, the breath knocked out of him as the other man pinned him down. Their chests rubbed together and for some reason that he couldn't quite figure out or didn't care to he was blushing. Their eyes met and Wood got a very confused look on his face, as if he were trying to figure something out about Harry but couldn't quite put his finger on the answer. Harry noticed irrationally that Oliver's breath smelled very nice, and he had full lips.

"Shall I get you two a room?" Hermione asked above them, sounding half-amused and half-curious. Harry and Oliver both blushed beet red and jumped away from each other. Hermione had let her hair down and was standing comfortably in jeans and a T-shirt, regarding them with a mostly unreadable expression. The amusement in her mischievous smile was very well-pronounced, however. Harry looked at her warily. He had learnt that when Hermione got that smile she was best left alone, lest she plot something. Hermione, for a Gryffindor, was quite extraordinary at plotting when she put her mind to it.

"You should; some people don't know how to let a man sleep," Oliver answered belatedly, trying to send a scowl Harry's way. Harry looked appropriately abashed, but couldn't help smiling down at his sneakers.

"I just came to say that you and your father are going to be spending the night tonight, Wood," Hermione said, still smirking slightly at them both. "I'll go see about sleeping arrangements for you…that is, if you two don't feel like a lie-in in the grass."

"You're not funny, _Hermy_," Harry shot out. He instantly regretted it; Hermione's eyes narrowed to Molly-like slits of fury at the hated nickname. She gave him a look that bespoke quite plainly the payback that she was about to inflict.

"Funnier than _you_, Potty," she smiled. "Besides, I just remembered that you two are going to have to share the foldout bed in the sofa. Need to give the spare bed to the adult, you understand." For some reason that Harry figured was unfathomable and girly she thought that this was both amusing and interesting. She gave him an indecipherable look and sauntered back into the house.

"Changed a lot, hasn't she?" Oliver asked after a moment. "I remember a shy little bookworm."

"I remember it with longing, some days," Harry joked. Oliver gave him that completely unguarded smile that always seemed to take him off-guard. Harry tried to ignore this. "She's become very much her own person, Hermione," he said, trying to get past the silence that was threatening to form from him. The only problem was that it was very comfortable to be silent with Oliver; Oliver would talk for him or maybe not talk and make Harry feel better. Harry was surprised how much of this was coming back to him after only a day in Wood's company. He was surprised how much attention he was paying to Oliver. He tried to ignore it and motioned toward the house.

"Shall we, roomie?" Wood cracked, holding out his arm very properly. Harry grinned and took it, letting Wood lead him into the house. And his heart did _not_ beat faster when he touched Oliver. It didn't. He was almost entirely certain.

**888**

When Harry woke up the next morning he was hugging something very warm and comfortable. How strange. He had the sense of arms holding him back and he felt very safe and very comforted, like he was holding large teddy bear. He smiled to himself and snuggled in deeper. Only he wasn't holding something stuffed. Instead this something that he was holding took a breath and a rumbling chuckle escaped it and it said "Morning to you too, Harry," in a surprisingly soft voice.

Harry let go (reluctantly, not that he'd admit it to himself) and pulled back to regard Oliver Wood, who for some reason still had his arm slung around Harry's smaller shoulders. Harry didn't feel to inclined to remove it. Well, damn it, he was comfortable. And warm. He let his head rest against Oliver's bicep. Oliver's eyes were warmer than usual and his voice was rather husky when he asked "Did you sleep well?"

Harry nodded. "Sorry about that…sometimes I cuddle," he said, embarrassed.

"I didn't mind," Oliver said quietly, flushing. Harry searched Oliver's handsome face for meaning, but Wood just gave him an unreadable look. Then he noticed that Oliver was leaning close. And it was ridiculous that Oliver's morning breath should smell as minty as it had the night before, but there it was. He didn't question his own quick breathing or his full-body blush or how he leaned in to Oliver's hand when it cupped his face. Oliver held him like porcelain, and it was nice to not have someone expect him to be unbreakable, because where some things were concerned Harry felt very easily shattered.

So when Oliver kissed him, Harry went with it. His thoughts centered around little things. _Oh…Oliver likes guys. Oh…Oliver likes _me_. Oh, Merlin, he's a good kisser and his lips are soft and he's moving away_…That last thought spurred Harry into action. He recaptured Wood's lips with his before Oliver could assume that Harry hadn't wanted him to kiss him. Because that was nonsense. He could suddenly think of nothing else he'd rather do than kiss Oliver Wood.

"And Professor Trelawney said that I wasn't psychic," Hermione said dryly from behind them. Harry jumped, blushing red, but Oliver merely gave her an irritated look at being interrupted. Harry couldn't help but notice that Oliver was adorable after sleep, with his hair all mussed and his lips swollen and red from kissing. Hermione leaned in and kissed Harry on the forehead with a smile that was not easily read. She then narrowed her eyes dangerously and pointed to Oliver. Then she pointed to Harry and made a motion like a heart breaking, pointed back to Oliver and then to herself, the slammed her fist rather hard into her other hand. Oliver's eyes widened. She nodded sagely, then, humming to herself, drew the doors to the living room where the two were closed and locked it behind her as she left, still humming.

Harry decided that breaks were enough and kissed Oliver again.

He may be the Chosen One, and there may be a dark horizon ahead, but for now he has the sun in his hand and warming up his lips, and he knows that somehow everything's rather good.

_Finis._

**A/N:** So, what'd you think? I love reviews, live for them, worship them…not so much the last part, but you know. This _is_ my first Harry Potter fan fiction, so I'm just hoping it was good. Anyway, drop me a line, tell me what you thought. I think I might come back to this fic, or write something along the lines of it, anyway. You never know.


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